


The Crimson Bow and Arrow

by cuanman



Series: Archline Saga: A Fire Emblem AU [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: Alternate Universe, Archline Saga (FE AU), Gen, In that I add extra to the plot, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5427626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuanman/pseuds/cuanman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marth only expected to kill Medeus and free the countries under his reign, and maybe obtain Falchion and get revenge for Altea while he was at it. He was not expecting to do all of that along with getting himself involved in millennia-old secrets and a mysterious man who would prefer hunting to fighting, but all is well... mostly well. (Slight AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Crimson Bow and Arrow

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything except for my OCs.**

* * *

_Fires._

_Fires, smoke, ashes, the crying spirits of the heavens and earth and the damned groping to pervert what light was left._

_The two stood there, surrounded by the fires and hate, hate in the form of white's purity._

_Because who cared for the red-skinned anymore? Red, as if kissed by the sun and soothed by the sky and rain, red as if the skin stood testament to centuries of displacement, abandonment. Red, like fresh scars from times they were struck down, when they could only kneel._

_2019, and a new group rose. The nation caressed their southern kin and their liberated minorities, yet forgot her birthkin. Family matters not, not when others offer more than simplicity, honesty, nature. Metal and stone harder than rock enveloped the tainted land, their black gold more precious than the gold of the plains. The nation screams why, too many blind to their own sins._

_But wasn't the origin always a catalyst of hate and blame for the new?_

_The same false accusations rang from centuries ago: savage, uncivilized, as their people lay dying. Only the Earth and the Sky and perhaps the Sun and Water comfort now._

_The Native boy wept, unwillingly breathing the ashes of his tribe. His French friend, the friend who bore the blood of his enemies and the heart of a friend, grasped his hand, reassuring in vain. He felt his pain in waves as they grew closer still, their embrace like that of Death's._

_Adults to humankind, children of the world._

_His future: gone. The other's future: nonexistent._

_The gold of the sun, green of the trees, and brown of the earth was swamped by the flares and the future belonging to men that weren't red like the blazing sun, red like the impartial fires, red like spilled blood._

_"Quan..."_

_The French boy tugged slightly at his grieving friend. He refused everything, refused to respond, refused to budge._

_So they both chose to stand and be engulfed by the flames of men and place their lives on the hands of the dying world's spirits, not knowing that their futures belonged elsewhere, where magic was far from dead, when dragons walked the earth, and kings and heroes sprung from the lowest places instead of dying in the fires of their personal hell._

_But of course, they didn't know that. They didn't know anything more than how to fluently speak their blood's tongue, how to hunt, how to survive, how to survive away from humanity..._

_And the dead, or what remained of their ashes, which every speck the Native could have spoken to whom they belong to if he tried._

_And so, the fire consumed them with their sorrow, never to be seen again by this world._

_Some distance away, a mare with a pale-golden coat, continued to gallop away, her eyes wide in fear._

_And just the same, she was gone._

_And on that day, the people who came to see the ashes swore they saw fairy-like dragonflies amidst the rolls of thunder and the blinding strikes of lightning, as if they were dancing in flight in a celebration of life as death came to occupy the black lands._

_May the Spirits forgive those trespassers._

* * *

_ Some time ago... _

_ 8 months _

_The gentle, quiet blue-haired boy waited patiently, as patient as any babe could be in his crib._

_A glimmering light._

_A lizard-like snout poked over, and the tiny creature's head looked over at the tiny human baby, whose eyes lightened up and his lips turned up into an adorable smile._

_The lizard-like thing grinned a scaly smile, and the rest of its body floated up, revealing wings and iridescent scales along a tiny body, the wings beautiful yet so delicate._

_'Hello, tiny child.'_

_The babe cooed and reached his chubby little hands out. The tiny thing flitted gracefully out of the way, emitting even smaller giggles that sounded like high-pitched bells on a sleigh._

_'What do you wish to play again?'_

_The little boy giggled and wriggled. The little thing dropped down slowly, its tail just short of the baby's grasp as his hands reached up, again and again. Despite of never being successful, his eyes were nearly squeezed shut as he laughed out beautiful peals of laughter._

_The door opened suddenly and the baby's mother came in, so pretty yet so confused. "Marth!" She rushed inside, looking over the crib. Her son was wide-awake, still giggling a bit in the aftermath, the blanket pulled up over him and his night clothes._

_Nothing was out of the ordinary._

_She smiled and stroked his head, and her child cooed in affection and love as a response to her own._

_"Such a good little boy, aren't you?"_

_He giggled._

_A kiss afterwards, his mother left, and the baby child named Marth let go of the blankets, revealing the little lizard-like thing he was playing with before. It was a bit ruffled up, but fine as he stretched out his wings, shimmering and splendid._

_Like any baby would do, Marth reached out towards them. Unlike most babies, he touched them with a certain amount of care, stroked them oh-so-gently._

_'Thank you, tiny child.'_

_And so they played again, bit quieter this time because it is quite an unpleasant thing to have your own mother interrupting what you enjoy, isn't it?_

_5 years_

_A pat. Two more. Three._

_The little creature purred before flying up and wrapping itself loosely around the other's neck, snuggling itself up as the child smiled._

_'You are warm, human.'_

_"You too, Hope!"_

_He swung his tiny legs and tiny feet on the bench, the smiling infectious as the tiny creature made its own lizardly smile. No one was around to observe this infectiously innocent scene, revolutionary in many ways. It is unheard of for a relationship of this warm, gentle sort to develop, but here it was, like a miracle of the gods. Perhaps that was why humans were created?_

_The strange pair took the time to enjoy the nature of this sheltered garden as the creature’s eyes drooped closed. It didn’t snore and gave no hint that it fell asleep until it suddenly jolted awake as the young child stroked his head, just in the right place. The creature purred some more as the bluenette reveled in its simple pleasure._

_They were best friends. The only best friends that they really needed, for now. But children do still grow up._

_7 years_

_It never came again._

_Marth cried for quite a long time, crying until his brooding features seemed to be permanent. That was, until at his seventh birthday: a red gemstone with a little bow wrapped around it suddenly appeared on Marth's desk._

_No one knew who gave it, nor where it came from, but when Marth picked it up and was filled with the familiar warm, light feeling of hope, he smiled._

_It remembered after all._

_ 14 years _

Marth's left hand inched up to the red gemstone placed as a holder for the blue cape it contrasted with, searching for a small glimmer of hope that he knew lingered there.

It was barely present, yet still so strangely warm. And the warmth brought memories, old and happy, much happier than the ship he was riding on in exile. Tears fell involuntarily as he sifted through those memories, picking at every strand.

He can remember his first memory of playing in the dark with the creature that seemed so much like a dragon and yet was so playful and happy, energetic and kind, tiny and adorable and beautiful.

'You are like that too,' it once addressed to himself with its echo-y voice, speaking from mind to mind.

How could he ever be like that now, having lost so much, too much?

He wished hope will come back again.

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism, reviews, anything is welcome.


End file.
